If I Was A Mind-Reader

Have you ever wonder what the person in front of you is thinking? You're standing in the same line at Tim Horton's as they are, at the same time of year and day... But, are your thoughts the same?

Don Jayson slammed the door of the battered jeep and stepped onto the parking lot in front of Tim Hortons, he looked at the jeep and thought it was ironic that Quint could still drive it after what happened last night. Quint was looking about him as he got out of the driver's seat, taking in the shops and roads near the car. Was he looking for the cops, Don thought with a smirk? The police station in Chatham was over near King St. about a mile from Lacroix where they stood and the only cop they had seen had passed them in traffic heading out for lunch from McGregor Secondary. As the car passed, Don had crumpled up the red baseball cap that he wore, in his grip. He had to do something with his hands, or he would go mad. Quint, who had spoken exactly one word all day, had become more silent. They watched the cop car together now from the parking lot, as it waited in traffic for the light to turn. 

The traffic light turned green, driving the cop car away and driving them towards the door of Tim Horton's. Don knew they should have gone to his house for lunch instead of Timmy's. The line would be crazy he thought, and I only want a coffee; my stomach can't hold any food. But, Quint scared him. He wished it wasn't true. He kept looking over his shoulder when he was alone with Quint this morning as if, he thought Quint would shot him in the back of the head five times.

Quint frowned at the cashier taking orders fifteen people ahead of them. Don noticed that the casher looked strangely like Quint's stepmother; she had the same brown eyes and gentle features. Would she also scream if her stepson was trying to put an axe through her head and missing, he thought? The blood would probably pool on the hardwood floor and leave a large stain that her stepson and his friend would then try to cover up with a rug. When the axe would go through her neck, blood would probably spray out and hit the friend in the face. His hand went up to his face. Then, the friend would burn his blood-splattered clothes, puzzling out the excuse to tell his parents. What creative story would explain why he came home wearing different clothing after a surprise sleep over that left bags under his eyes?

He shook his head as if trying to shake off the thoughts.

 This is going to drive me insane. I need to tell someone. I clearly can't talk to Quint, you can never talk to Quint about anything he doesn't like. He never talked about his stepparents and he'll never talk about tying cinderblocks to their corpses to keep them at the bottom of the Thames River. If I tell anyone else, one way or another the police will find out. I might as well just ditch class and walk there now with my coffee lunch. It's not like I haven't ditched before, the whole reason why I'm taking grade 13 is because it's like breathing for me but, instead of  ditching to hang out with Quint, I'll be rating on him.

Deep in thought, he had stood in line and stared at the cashier blankly. He noticed now that new people had lined up behind him and there was a large gap between him and the rest of the line in front. He moved up.

But how can I tell on Quint, my only and best friend? My cell woke me up and told me that he needed me, and I was there. He took out the axe and his stepdad's Winchester revolver with the rope and cinderblocks. I knew what he had in mind then. I didn't try to stop him...

The line moved up two people.

I'm just as guilty as he is, it's not like the police will give me no jail time because I wasn't the one to put the five bullets in his stepdad's head...

"Uh...Pardon", a lady with long hair said to him.

"What?" He started.

She pointed to the gap in the line, Quint had left him behind and was ordering.

"Could you move up?"

"Yeah, sorry", he said. The lady moved back to her spot.

His hands shook as he took out his wallet. Damn it all!, he thought when I saw that he had under two dollars in change to buy the extra large coffee he needed. I'll have to settle for a small. He started counting the pennies and nickels in his wallet. The numbers kept knotting in his mind. He would count out half of the change and forget how much he had counted.   

 

 

 

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May Mathews stood in line at Tim Horton's holding her mum's hand. Ahead of them the line spanned fifteen people, at the front of the line was a teenage boy in a red baseball cap paying for his coffee with nickels. People near him started to groan. Another boy his age stood to the side of him as he ordered, waiting for him to count out his due with cold eyes. Behind her and her mum, people had to hold the glass door leading into the restaurant to wait in line.

"Mommy why so many people", she asked her mother.

"Well dear, it's lunchtime..." her mother answered back.

Her brows knitted together. But why is it lunchtime, she thought? Her mother noticed her expression and asked her about her first day in grade one.

"Good."

"Nobody bothered you, birthday girl?"

May shook her head and smiled; she liked to being called birthday girl.

"If anyone does you tell the teacher like I said, okay. Just because you're special, doesn't mean that they can pick on you like at you're other school; especially not on your birthday."

May nodded. She didn't understand why her mum kept telling her to tell the teacher things but, she knew that if she nodded mum wouldn't yell at her when they got home.

She started to fidget with her pink party dress. The material feels weird, she thought. This line is so long, why is it so long? It's my birthday so shouldn't it be shorter. Soon she lost interest in the dress and started to rock on her heels. She was hopping like a bunny when she stomped her feet and hit her thighs in frustration. The boy was still at the front counting nickels.

"Mmmmmooooooommm..." She whinnied.

"Be patient, dear", her mum said and stooped down to her level. Some people were giving them cagey glances. "Remember what I told you about acting out in public? Good girls are patient", she said in a hushed tone.

"I don't want be patient!"

People's heads were turning. An elderly woman reading a book at a table turned to see who was yelling. The boy at the front had finished counting his nickels and looked over his shoulder to see what the commotion was about. The air had electricity.

"Look dear, the line is moving up", her mum pointed at the space in front of them but, she refused to look.

Mom's so mean, she thought. She never listens to me. We have been waiting in line forever, and it will never move. I'll probably never get my birthday cake because this dumb line will take forever to move. We'll stand here all day, I'll miss the rest of school and the kids will pick on me tomorrow. I'll never get my birthday lunch, and I was really looking forward to it!

Her face grew hot, and her eyes started to sting. Her bottom lip quivered.

It's so unfair! Today's my birthday, and there's this dumb line that won't move! And mom won't even do anything, she just stands there, why can't she make the line move? Mom's just mean. She doesn't like me. She's just pretending to like me to make fun of me like the kids at my old school...

Tears started rolling down her face. She collapsed on the ground with her arms crossed and let out a roar. Her bawled. Her mother picked her up shacking with sobs in her arms and tried to soothe her by rocking her back and forth like an infant.

Why does mom hate me, she thought and shook with tears?

 

 

 

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Elizabeth Smiley dropped her copy of the Republic by Plato without keeping her page. She was enjoying the book when the sobbing of a child broke her concentration. The book fell with a clank on the plastic table beside her large cappuccino and untouched chocolate muffin. She glared out at the lunch hour traffic on Lacroix. The entire wall of Tim Horton's was glass so she had a full view of the town she was leaving for the next month. She hated Chatham in September.

Oh God, would someone please shut that little retard up, she thought. I just wanted a minute of peace with a book and this is what I get instead, and at my age too... This is the reason why I never wanted kids. They cry and have no respect for their elders these days.

She looked over at the little girl in the pink dress sobbing on her mother's arms. It was clear to her that the girl had something wrong with her. Her eyes were too close together and she was chubbier than the average child. She guessed that the girl had Down syndrome.

I pity the mother. To have to take care of that thing must be a great burden; it's a wonder why she didn't give it up. It will never take care of her in her old age or, contribute to society. She will have to support it until death. I've read somewhere that caretakers have a higher mortality rate. The mother must be either a total fool or a perfect angle.

She rolled up the sleeve of her blazer and looked at her ruby studded watch. It was noon.

I'd better get going, the fight to Pairs leaves at 5 and I need to drive to Toronto before than to meet with Jane. And, that little burden to society doesn't sound like she is going to calm down soon...

She put the book in her bag with the muffin after putting it back in its paper bag. I really shouldn't be drinking this, she thought as she picked up the cappuccino. She took a sip, and smiled at the taste. The doctor told me that my heart can't take coffee like it used to.

There were two entrances leading in and out of Tim Horton's. The entrance closer to her seat and the line leading up to the counter lead to the side parking lot where her Cadillac convertible was parked. However, the little girl that was bawling in line disgusted her. She took the other entrance leading to the front lot. I'd rather walk around than have to bare hearing that thing wail for the another minute, she thought to herself.

Standing beside her car with the keys in her hand, she looked at the town she was fleeing. She had forced herself not to look at the intersection when she pulled up in the Tim Horton's parking lot. To another person it would appear to be another intersection, but it was the place she first met William to her.

 Years ago when she was young, they met. She was walking from the conveyance store across the street back home with groceries in both hands when the bags gave. All the food spilled out onto the street. She remembered rolling her eyes at the thought of carrying it all back home when Will had come up to her and started picking all of it up. "Where you heading?" he asked. She told him that she lived more than a block away, near Cecile St. and, he just nodded. Two weeks later, she practised writing her name as Mrs. William Slimily.

But life was cruel to her. The same intersection that had given her Will had taken him away. The headlines in the Chatham newspaper reported that on September of last year a Mr. William Smiley had died in a car collision with a drunk driver on the intersection of Lacroix and Richmond.  

She got in her car and put the key in the ignition. I hate this town and I hate September, she thought before driving away.  

     

 

Author's Note

I'd love to hear your thoughts on my attempt at creative writing...